


You and Me at the Edge of the World

by Lighthouse89



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, F/M, Holiday Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lighthouse89/pseuds/Lighthouse89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the worst comes to happen, it is a continuous struggle for survival for those who are still breathing. People who would have never met otherwise find themselves relying on each other to stay sane and alive. Sansa Stark is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking the cutie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyAmaly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAmaly/gifts).



When Sansa Stark was a young, teenage girl, she enjoyed staying at home on rainy days, watching movies with her siblings. They would make some popcorn, take some sodas, and sit around the huge TV in the living room, arguing about which movie to watch. Sansa almost never won those arguments. Once, after watching a zombie movie, they all began to talk about their chances of surviving such an apocalypse. Bran would be the smart one, the one with the great plans. Arya would obviously be the sharp shooter of the group. And Dad would be the badass one, getting them all to safety. Sansa was laughingly declared the first one to die, and she laughed along, knowing they were probably right.

Six years later, the world as we know it fell apart. And Sansa Stark was still alive.

==

_Run run run run run run run runrunrunrun._

That was all that was on her mind, as her legs carried her faster than ever before. No other thought was allowed. There was no noticing of the strong, cold wind hitting her face, nor the stench that hung about, or the occasional dead body on the erstwhile spotless white and green fields of her childhood.  The sun did not blind her eyes, nor could she feel the sharp, tall grass and lost branches drawing cuts on her long, marble white legs. She did not know if she was being persecuted, she did not care. Only one thing mattered.

_Run run run run run run run_.

Once upon a lost time, when Sansa was only a girl with dreams in her pockets and stars in her eyes, she had enjoyed running. She was a rather smart girl, who did very well on school (with the exception, sometimes, of maths) and hated P.I. She had not been born for sports, she had often thought.  Softball, volleyball, nothing appealed to her, until the day she discovered the track team, and P.I. was never quite the same. Her aim was lousy, her hands were weak, but on the track, she could run. No, not run, whenever she was on a track she _flew_.

Never had such a gift been more useful.

And so Sansa run without stopping, obeying the last command she would ever hear from the lips of her father, run until her feet ached and her legs felt only seconds away of falling apart. Even then she ran some more, until she reached a small farmhouse surrounded by trees. She did not give herself time to think about it. She did not know what she could find inside the house, probably all she could not fight against. So, with the clumsiness of someone who was not practiced in the art of climbing trees, she clung to branch after branch, testing how they supported her weight, and she climbed, until she was sure enough that she was out of harm’s way, at least for the time being. She managed to reach a strong one that allowed her to rest her back against the trunk, sat with both legs at her side, and wept, and thought.

Now that there was no immediate mission, now that she could allow herself to rest, and think, everything that had happened in the last two days came back to her with a vengeance. She remembered when the epidemic broke out, how the government had organized the evacuation of the city. She had been visiting, along with her father and sister, far away from their home, and mother, and her brothers, and Dad had told them to pack their things because they were leaving. But Arya had had to find her friend, and Arya had left, and hadn’t come back, and oh! How worried Dad had been! And he put her in the car, and told her to drive, that he would find Arya and meet her further north, where a checkpoint had been set, only weeks later when they met again there was no Arya, that silly girl, always getting in trouble, she just couldn’t sit still, could she? And he had a gun, and he went into the car, and took the highway, but it was cramped and the mob came towards them, but it wasn’t a mob, how terrible they looked! Hadn’t they all been alive seconds ago? And the cars wouldn’t move, too many, too many of them, and dad got them out of the car, and they ran, but they were too many, and they found shelter at first, but it wasn’t enough and they were just too many, and he told her to run, she could hear him, “whatever you do, Sansa, run! Run and don’t look back! I’ll be right there with you. Just run!” And she had believed him, because she was a fool, a trusting idiot, she had ran, until she heard the gunshots, and then one lone gunshot, the last, and the mob stopped, and she ran. And she was alone. Alive. Alone.

She cried until she felt she had no more tears to spare, but she cried silently. The dead things could still hear, and she didn’t want to attract any more of those. After a while, the sun went down, and the singing of birds was replaced by the fluttering of bugs and the sound of an owl not too far from when she was. For a second, she looked around and she had to admit, sitting on a tree in the middle of the night, there was a sort of peaceful quietness she had never felt before. But then she remembered why she had been driven to find such a place, and there was no more peace for her. She was afraid of falling asleep. What if she fell? But she supposed dying by a fall was better than being eaten alive, so, at last, she allowed her exhaustion to take over.

What seemed like a second to her must have been hours, because she was woken, not by the rising sun, which was high on the sky when she struggled to open her eyes, but by what was clearly a gunshot not far from where she was. It seemed to come from the farmhouse. She leaned over the branch and managed to see a man exiting the place, one gun in her hand, a bag full of what looked like food in the other. He was walking towards a black car parked not far from there.

It was her best chance, her only chance. She would not survive long on her own, and maybe this unknown man would be kind enough to help her. Having made her decision, she began to make her way down the tree, but she hadn’t counted on her tired legs to be so completely useless, and she fell, though thankfully not too far from the ground. It was enough, however, to draw the man’s attention. In a second he had turned around, and pointed her gun to where Sansa had fallen

“Please, don’t shoot! I’m not… I’m not one of them!” Sansa yelled. The man lowered his gun and walked briskly towards her. Sansa stood up slowly, pushing her long, auburn hair out of her face, and that was when she realized the man was not a man at all, but a woman, the tallest woman she had ever seen. She had short blond hair, and astounding blue eyes, and was looking at her with a kind smile.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman said, “but one can never be too careful. Are you all right?”

“I think so,” she answered, dusting off her clothes.

“Are you alone?” the newcomer looked round, as if she expected more people to fall from trees, “What were you doing on that tree? And how did you get here?”

“I ran. From the Highway.” She added, when the other looked at her strangely.

“All the way from the highway? That is some distance. Look, why don’t you come with me? I’m staying in a house with a few others. We’re living with what we can, but it’s something, and better than being alone.”

Sansa smiled, relieved.

“That would be… thank you. I’m Sansa, by the way.”

“My name is Brienne. Now, let’s get out of here.”


	2. Welcome to the New World Order

“Let me tell you one thing, Clegane. If I had known this was the future, I would’ve spent a lot less time training and a lot more time watching horror movies.”

Sandor Clegane nodded absently, barely sparing a glance to the fair-haired man beside him, more focused on the sole zombie wandering aimlessly in front of the doorway across the street. The thing was the ugliest thing he had ever seen, and coming from him, that was saying something. Sallow-skinned and rotten, one of its arms was dangling, held by whatever little sinew remained. The face was sunken and disgusting to look at. It was slow and stupid, and all he had to do was aim right, pull the trigger, and the thing was no more.

“Well, at least all those bloody movies got one thing right. Clean shot in the head puts those buggers down. That makes twenty-seven, by the way, Lannister. You counting?” He said, smirking unpleasantly, knowing it only made his half-burned face even more terrible to look at. The handsome Jaime Lannister smirked back.

“Oh, I’m not too worried. These fuckers are everywhere. I’ll be ahead soon enough.”

“You know,” said a third, feminine voice, “those things were people once. It’s disgusting, that little competition you two have. You could have a little more respect for the dead.”

“Now, Brienne, why should I respect the dead when they are clearly not respecting us?”

Brienne stepped forward to the two men. Taller than Jaime, almost as tall as Sandor, she was strong and as good a shooter as her companions. She smacked Jaime over the head and took over the watch.

It was no wonder than out of the twenty-something people inside the small market that day, only the three of them had made it. It had been almost instinctual, the way Jaime had run towards the gun shop when he’d realized what was going on, only to find Sandor already there. Both former soldiers, they worked as a well-oiled team without even knowing each other. No words were necessary when survival was on the line. Brienne had joined them later, when she was fending off zombies with a long wooden plank that looked ripped from a bench, and Jaime shot the three closest and grabbed her arm, taking her with them.

That had been three weeks ago. They had found an empty house, pretty secure, and were staying there, taking turns to watch the area from the roof.

“Come back already? Found anything good?” Sandor asked.

“Some supplies in an old house. One undead. Oh…” she said, hesitating. She knew perfectly well her companions would not find her following news at all good, “There was also a girl, alive. She was alone. She seemed terrified!” she hurriedly added in her defense, when both Jaime and Sandor looked at her sternly.

“You didn’t,” Jaime said, no trace of amusement in his voice.

“I couldn’t leave her alone to die, Jaime!”

“Dammit, Brienne!” the blond man snapped. Sandor decided to leave the roof, Jaime would berate her for the both of them. He needed a drink and some rest, and as he made his way down the stairs he could hear Jaime saying, “You know we are short on supplies! And you bring a girl? Remember what happened to that little boy you found? You were all…”

He didn’t hear anymore after that, the sound dying away with the distance, but he knew how it would end. Jaime had brought up the boy, and now the wench would end up in tears and Jaime with a swollen cheek, most likely. It seemed unreal to be able to predict the actions of people he had met three weeks ago, he thought, shaking his head, as he went into the kitchen and took a beer from the somehow-still-working fridge. The real surprise awaited him as he made his way towards the small living-room.

There, in the middle, stood the girl Brienne must have brought. Only, when she had said “girl”, Sandor had pictured an eight-year-old, snot-nosed and absolutely useless, another mouth to feed and constant crying. Here, however, stood a woman, and perhaps the most beautiful woman he had seen in a long time, if ever. She was tall and slender, with long auburn hair and deep blue eyes. Even if she looked as if she had seen much better days (her hair was a mess and what had happened to her clothes?), her face was still without a flaw. Too pretty for a world that was going to hell, he decided.

The girl was staring at him now, probably noticing his terrible scars and wondering if the zombies out there were a better choice, he imagined. She must have realized she was being rude, for she lowered her eyes and muttered a small “hello”.

“You the girl that came with Brienne?”

“Yes,” she muttered, still staring at her feet.

He crossed his arms across his chest and walked over to her.

“How old are you, kid?” he asked. She raised her eyes a little, staring at his chest instead. “I’m not… I’m not a kid, I’m twenty two.”

Sandor let out a loud, rasping laugh that startled the girl. “Twenty two? Damn, you _are_ a bloody kid. Well girl… dammit I hate when people don’t look at me when I speak. Look at me!” He bellowed. It wasn't as if he was purposely trying to scare her, but it pissed him off when people avoided his face. The girl startled, but she raised her eyes to his face. “There, that wasn’t so bloody hard, eh? Rather stare at some of those zombies, be ahead, be my guest, go, but this is my shelter and I’ll be buggered if I have to share with someone who doesn’t even look at people when they talk. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that ain’t polite?”

“She also told me it isn’t polite to stare,” she answered back, the hint of a challenge behind those deep, bright blue eyes.

“Well, looks like you’ve got some fight in you, kid. Good, you won’t last long without it.”

He was about to walk away when she said, “My name is Sansa.”

“Good for you,” he replied, turning around, but her voice stopped him again.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

He kept on walking, but as he got to the middle of the stairs, he said, “Sandor. The big wench is Brienne, as you probably know, and the other guy you’ll meet later is Jaime. The beds are taken so you might as well pick a comfortable armchair.”

He went into the room he shared with the Lannister guy, finished the beer in two swigs and laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts on the pretty blue eyed girl downstairs. All right, he had been an ass to her, but did she have to avoid his face like that? It bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

Maybe it was because, in this new world, for the first time in his life, Sandor was almost appreciated. He had exactly what it took to survive. He was strong, fast, smart and one hell of a shooter. He was resourceful. He knew perfectly well that if people were now given the choice to pick a team, many would fight to have him on his side. In this new world, where everything had been turned upside down and nothing was the same, Sandor had all the right cards. For the first time, he wasn’t the weird kid, the ugly guy, the scary one. He was the leader. And then the girl came along and he was the ugly kid all over again.

“Well, bugger her. She’ll probably be dead by the end of the week, anyway.”

He secured the .45 beneath his pillow and allowed himself to sleep. His dreams were, as always, filled with fire and screams, only this time, there was something staring at him through the flames, calling, beckoning. Something blue.


	3. End of the Dream

The flow of time can be the strangest thing sometimes. The same event may pass by incredibly slow and then it’s over and it seems as if it was all too fast. Time can fly and yet it seems as if the same thing has been going on forever. That was Sansa’s perception of the time she spent in that little, abandoned, suburban home turned refuge. Before she knew it, three months had gone by, but at times she felt she had been there forever.

She had felt helpless at first, not being any good to keep watch since she wasn’t a good shot, and not good for raids for the same reason. Sandor’s brutally honest remarks on her lack of usefulness did not exactly boost her confidence. Slowly, however, she found herself taking care of the food, being able to make a nice, tasty dish out of three simple ingredients. She also learned how to take care of injuries and was pretty good at it. She tried to keep herself busy in order to avoid thinking of her family, but sometimes the odd thought would creep in, uninvited, and the sorrow threatened to drown her.

During that time, she had also gotten to know her three roommates better. She found she genuinely liked Brienne, who was barely older than herself, and had a gentle nature that nevertheless did not impair her courage when faced with the undead. On the other hand, she did not quite know what to make of Jaime. He was doubtlessly charming, seemed nice and was certainly brave, but there was always _something,_ a strange feeling that kept her from trusting him completely. She sometimes thought it was the odd resemblance to her asshole ex-boyfriend.

And then there was Sandor.

It was by far the strangest relationship she had ever maintained with anyone. Sometimes it seemed as though he could not withstand her very existence, and yet she felt as if she was the only one he actually talked to. Sansa had found she could not sleep very well at nights, so she tended to wander around the house, and then she found Sandor always took the night watch, for he couldn’t sleep well either. And so she had started to take him coffee, or wine, to pass the time. The silence had felt too awkward at first, so she had asked him thousands of silly questions that had led to him saying she was like a talking little bird that just wouldn’t stop. And now he simply called her “little bird”. She had learned, though, a lot about his life that way, things she doubted the others knew, and she often thought it was strange he had chosen the “empty headed little bird” to talk about.

Three months she stayed in relative tranquility in that nice, abandoned house. As Sandor would have said, she should’ve learned by then that good things never lasted long.

It was one of the first days of winter when they noticed the water was finally running out. “We’ll have to go for a supply run. Or find a house with a pump.” Jaime remarked.

“You fancy going out right now? These fucking zombies are arriving by the dozen to the town now. Must be looking someplace warm.”

No one wanted to go, so, as usual, they drew sticks.

“And, as usual, who gets the short end?” Sandor snorted. “Bugger you all. Who’s coming with me?” It was a rule no one went alone on a supply run.

“Not me, mate,” Jaime remarked, lifting his hands.

“I know that, you idiot,” Sandor answered. It was also a rule they did not leave the women alone. As if Brienne wasn’t just as good as both of them. Male pride, Sansa supposed. “How’s your leg, wench?” He said, turning to the tall girl on his left. Brienne had twisted her foot two days ago and the swelling hadn’t yet disappeared completely. She, however, would show no pain.

“I can pull it off,” she said bravely. Without saying a word, Sandor walked forward and squeezed her ankle, getting a yelp of pain from her, along with a large push.

“Yeah, right, you’ll be nothing but dead weight. Forget it, I rather be on my own. Where are the car keys?”

“I can go, you know.”

All three of them turn to look at Sansa, who had spoken those last few words, and was looking at them stubbornly.

“No bloody way, little bird. You’ll be less use than Brienne here.”

“That is not true!” Sansa protested. She was tired of feeling useless, tired of not leaving the house, tired of doing the same every.single.day. “We need medicine too, and I have a better idea of what we lack than you do, I can find them faster. And I can run fast enough if needed. Please,” she said, looking at him in the eye. She no longer found it difficult. “I need to get out of here,” she finished in a whisper.

“I said no, girl. And that’s final.”

==

Half an hour later, Sandor was on the road in his beloved black car. It was an almost perfect ride.

“Too bad the radio isn’t working. It would be nice to listen to some music.” A female voice said wistfully.

Almost.

“Yeah well, I don’t have music lying around, and anyway, won’t be wasting any battery on that so forget it, girl. Besides, last thing I wanna do is attract more zombies to the car just because they heard your bloody music.”

Sansa sat back, and then she remembered something she had been meaning to ask him.

“Why do you call them that? I mean, I’ve heard of no one that does. It sounds so terribly fake…”

Sandor let out a short, incredulous laugh that sounded close to a bark.

“And why would I call them any different? The undead, walkers, the monsters, the unholy, all these names people make up to avoid the real thing. We’ve all seen the movies; we all know what’s going on.  Zombies, that’s what they are, I call it like it is. No point pretending otherwise.”

_I wish I could_ , Sansa thought, but did not say it out loud. There really was no point.

“Why do you think this is happening? I mean, what do you think caused this? Could it be a disease?”

“Does it matter? Whatever it is, there doesn’t seem to be anyone out there willing to help so as long as we stay alive, virus, fungus, whatever, it ain’t important. Best not to waste time asking questions.”

She knew, in a way, she was right. But it seemed too hard not to ask questions, not to want an explanation.  Sometimes she lay awake at night, trying to catch something on the radio, but no odd report, no government issued report ever reached them. It felt as if they had all been abandoned to their fates.

After a while, they reached what seemed to be a deserted small town. Sandor turned off the lights off the car (the sun had gone down already) and drove slowly through what seemed to be the main road. There were no odd noises to be heard, nothing that resembled undead things nearby, so after a few turns, they parked in front of the market. Once inside, Sandor decided to take the rows to the left while Sansa went to the right.

_Nail polish, not now… toothpaste, I should take some… Soap… Aspirin, Tylenol, Alcohol, Band-Aids, Pain Relief cream, cotton… Pads, great, will come in handy…Condoms_ , here she stopped, looked around, blushed and added some as well. _You never know… perhaps Brienne and Jaime will put them to use_ , she giggled to herself, but her amusement was cut short by a loud noise from the back of the shop.

She grabbed the gun she had been given more firmly and whispered “Sandor?”

“Shh,” she heard him say, “Stay where you are, little bird. I’ll go check it out.”

It felt as if all of a sudden she had become oversensitive to every little noise. She heard Sandor’s heavy steps to the back, heard a noise, a lock, a door, and then a shot rang out. Then another. She knew what it meant. Another shot.

_Zombies, here_ , she thought as yet another shot rang out _, god, not here, not now, and I’m alone!_ She had already resolved to stand still as a stone and wait until her friend came back, when she heard the noise behind her. She turned around just in time to see the thing coming at her.

“No!” she yelled, backing away, but the thing was close, and grabbed her arm. The decaying flesh made her nauseous, but there was no time to think of that. She tried to break free, but the thing wouldn’t budge, and tried to bite her. She took her gun and shot it right in the head, and then it let go. A cold dread settled in her stomach. _It tried to bite me_. She stared at the dead corpse, yellow and rotten.

But there was no time to think. Attracted by the noise, dozens of zombies were getting into the store now. She had to run. She could still hear shooting, but further away now. At least Sandor was still alive. She ran towards the back, but it was impossible to leave from there. The back room was swarmed! She covered her mouth with her hand. _He’s trapped, Sandor’s trapped and so am I._

But he wasn’t, she realized. The shots seemed to be coming from the outside. There was probably another door, but the horde of those things had packed the room and he hand’t been able to come back. And now she couldn’t leave.

She knew what her only choice was. Making use of what little courage she had in her, she took the heaviest thing she could find as she ran towards the front, avoiding the center rows where the zombies seemed to be headed. With all her strength, she threw the metal thing (a wrench, she would later realize), against a huge glass panel in the side of the entrance. It shattered instantly, attracting the undead things, but it gave her the escape route she needed, and she jumped over the frame, running towards the street.

The sight before her took her back to that dreadful day, the day her father had died. Hundreds, thousands of undead creatures were coming towards her, making their way on the Main Street. Even under the darkening sky, she could see their different states of decay. Some were not even distinguishable as men and women. She ran towards the car, but suddenly some of them were upon her, surrounding her. She kicked and punched were she could, and shot those that were closer, but they kept coming. When she had managed to open the driver’s door, one zombie came out of nowhere, grabbed her shoulder, and would have surely bitten her, if a blade hadn’t fallen down at the last second, severing the arm from the thing. In another second it had severed the head as well.

Sandor jumped in front of her, brandishing what seemed a long blade in one hand, and his gun in the other, alternatively slashing and shooting , covering her with his large body. When he had disposed of at least twenty, he turned to her.

“Get in the car, now!”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She got in and crawled to the companion’s seat. Sandor followed her, shutting the door and locking them. Sansa saw the blade was a machete he had somehow acquired, and that it was now all bloody. He threw it in the back seat, started the car, and drove with as much speed as he could muster.

After a while of silent driving, he spoke.

“Are you all right? No bites?”

“No bites,” she replied. She didn’t answer his first question. She wasn’t sure she was all right, after all. “You?”

“I’m fine. Got a nasty cut in my arm but nothing else.” He cleared his throat and then said, “You did pretty well out there.”

It was silly, but for a second she forgot how bad she felt, and smile with a touch of pride.

“Thank you. And thank you for… slicing those things. That was rather impressive.”

“Right,” he replied, but she thought he looked satisfied.

They didn’t speak anymore after that, and would have probably spoke no more if, some miles before reaching their small abandoned town, the old walkie-talkie hadn’t flared up with static. Someone was talking but she couldn’t make anything out. Sandor sped up, and suddenly they heard Jaime’s voice coming from the device.

“…packed. The whole town! Fuck are you listening? Don’t come back! Brienne, dammit, this way! Don’t come…” and then the voice was lost.

“Jaime?” she screamed frantically, trying to reach him. “Jaime!”

But there was no answer.

“Sandor, something happened!”

He was strangely calm. “I heard, little bird.”

“So? We have to go back! They could be in danger! You need to go faster.” But he was turning the car around. “What are you doing? We need to go back!”

“No, Sansa!” He bellowed, and his deep voice silenced her. “Didn’t you hear him? _‘Packed. The whole town.’_ It’s useless to go there. If they can’t escape for themselves, by the time we get there they will already be dead, and us as well!”

“So we leave them to die?”

“If we go there, we die, Sansa. All of us. You can’t do anything for them now! They are probably dead, and you’ll gain nothing dying yourself.”

Sansa stifled a sob, and stared at the window, at the front, anywhere but him.

“Why are you always so hateful?” she whispered.

“Call me hateful all you want,” he said gravely, “But at least I’m the one that’s keeping us alive.”

“Alive for what?” she asked, her voice breaking. She hadn’t meant to say it, but the thought had been forming for a while, and there it was. “What are we even living for? What are we becoming?”

He looked at her for a few moments, such an intense stare she had to look away. She thought he would mock her, telling her she was being an idiot. Instead, he turned his eyes to the road and spoke, and when he did, his voice was softer than she had ever heard it before.

“I told you, little bird,” he said, not taking his eyes off ahead. “Sometimes… best not to waste time asking questions.”


	4. You Can Never go Home

They drove for a long time, never staying in the same place for long, taking food and water where they found it, eating only what was necessary and saving the rest. Sandor drove most of the time, but sometimes, when the road seemed safe enough, Sansa would get behind the wheel and allow him some rest.

They avoided all the big cities, every place where huge concentrations of people could be found. Instead, they kept to small towns and houses beside the motorway. When they were lucky, they would find an empty house that looked as if it had been abandoned in haste. Once, she found a child’s blanket on the floor, the toys still on the floor as if the child had been picked up in the middle of his play time. She tried not to think too much about the fates of all those people that had once populated these towns, but she knew well most had probably not survived.

Sometimes it was worse. Once they found a house with two young girls who had been shot. The bite marks on their arms were enough reason, but it was still too hard, too unfair that two young girls had found their fate that way. That time, she hadn’t even wanted to check upstairs. Sandor did, though, and came back grim-faced, telling her they needed to find someplace else to stay. Only a few days later did he tell her that he had found the corpse of an older man who had shot himself in the head. By the looks of it, the father. She hadn’t needed any more information to understand the picture and wept for them.

The only thing that was not depressing, at least, was her company. After all the time driving, and being on their own, they had found a certain middle ground around each other. Sandor was, of course, still rude and brutally honest, but she found she was not as wary of him as she had once been, and was not afraid to answer back. Being alone with such a huge, scary and strong man, and being able to hold her own, had given her back some of her confidence. And she trusted him. She knew that no matter how hard he spoke, he would let no harm come to her. It was something she appreciated more than she could say.

After what must have been weeks, or even a month (it had become hard to keep track of the time), she woke up in the passenger’s seat to the sound of heavy rain falling upon them. She had always loved the rain, so she sat up to watch the storm, and the view around them came as a shock. Even in the pouring rain, she knew the road, the houses, everything. She swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. So many good memories… and a terrible one…

“Sandor… you need to take the first turn to the right, the nearest exit. You can’t take the highway.”

“Why not, little bird?” He asked, his voice betraying his exhaustation.

“Because it was packed with cars the last time I saw it,” she said, and he glanced at her surprised. “This is where I came after I left the city, where I met my dad… the checkpoint in the north of the city.”

He didn’t ask anything about that day, and for that she was grateful, as she didn’t know if she could talk about that yet, the day her father had died. Instead, he drove until he reached the exit she had mentioned, and then asked,

“Where does this take us? If we follow this road, where do we end up?”

She knew, but it took her some tries to get the name out of her tongue. “Winterfell,” she said at last, “my hometown.”

==

It was a charming little town, Sandor had to admit. They were deep in the middle of winter, but the snow hadn’t yet covered it. Instead, a light white blanket shone on top of the roofs, the trees and the roads. The rain had stopped by then, but he had to be careful as melted snow with water was terribly slippery. He drove, as usual, with the lights off, and trying to make as little noise as possible.

Sansa was watching everything with a mixture of elation and sadness. It was as if she couldn’t quite believe she was back. Her beautiful eyes looked right and left, up and down, trying to take everything in and miss nothing.

“So…” he cleared his throat, “Do you want to go to your home?” he asked, knowing even as he said it that it was a bad idea. The worst, probably.

“I… I don’t know,” she said, sitting back and looking at him. “It’s not like I can go and get some clothes because I left everything in my rooms at college. And what I could find here…” she trailed off, staring outside again, playing with a lock of her hair. “And yet I feel I have to. I can’t leave this town without going home. Without _knowing_.”

“Then lead the way.”

She did, and they soon reached a large, beautiful white house, with black doors and windows. There were no signs of life, but neither of destruction. She got down of the car and he followed closely, in part to make sure nothing attacked them… and a small part of him simply needed to be close to her. To have her back, even if she didn’t notice it.

What a fool. He couldn’t help it. The little bird had gotten way under his skin and there was no getting her out.

She crossed the threshold slowly, tentatively, caressing the walls. It seemed there was no one home. They walked into the first room, the living room, and he heard Sansa gasp. The place was a mess. Chairs were turned over and a mirror had been smashed. She looked at the scene before her silently, and then she walked out.

He followed her into one room, and the next, and the next. She did not speak, nor did she explain. Every room seemed to have been searched, by someone or something. Things were lying on the floor, couches turned around, pictures broken… he found on the floor a small photograph of what seemed to be a younger Sansa hugging a shorter girl with brown hair and a long face. They were both being hugged by an auburn haired young man, who had to be related to Sansa, so much they resembled each other. He took the picture from the broken frame and kept it, intending to give it to her sometime later.

He watched her closely as her hands touched every piece of furniture, every wall. He could tell the grief was all over her, yet she did not break. She was stronger than she seemed, that was something he had learned months ago, while they were still in that old abandoned house. Not in the physical sense, perhaps, that was not her kind of strength, but there was a quiet defiance in her that would not be smothered, no matter what. He had seen it every time he was rude to her, every time his remarks attempted to shake her, to break the shell around her. She would nod, maybe avert her eyes, but looking in them, there was that ice wall that told him _“I will not break. Say what you will, do your worst, I’m still here. I will endure”_. And she had. Maybe that’s what drew him to her, what made her so irresistible and made him want to protect her from everything. It was the fact that this world had injured her, but hadn’t defeated her. She still had hope, innocence, all those things he had never been able to hold on to. She was his hope now, for if she was lost, all that good would be gone with her.

She kept walking without saying a word, climbing the stairs, probably lost in memories, surrounded by the ghosts of what it once was and never would be again. They reached the second floor, walked along a large, white hallway, until the little bird tentatively opened one of the doors. The room they walked into was large and the walls were a light lilac. There was a four-posted undone bed, the covers falling on the side, and all over the floor there were pictures and folders and all kinds of papers. This must be her room, he thought.

She moved slowly until she reached an old doll that was lying underneath a desk. She kneeled to get it, and then stood there with the doll in her hand, transfixed. She was staring at the doll, but it did not seem as if she was really looking at it. Suddenly, her hand shook, and she began to cry, violently, inconsolably.

Sandor didn’t know what to do. He had never been around crying women much, and he wasn’t exactly the comforting kind of person.

“Little bird…”

“Please,” she croaked, her voice choked in her throat, “Please just… I need… could you just… leave, for a moment? I can’t…” she said, shaking her head, as more tears fell on the floor.

He didn’t need to hear more. He turned on his heels and left the room, not before seeing her sinking on the floor, the doll clutched tightly in her arms.

He couldn’t tell how much time he spent guarding her door, waiting, listening. Once in a while he heard her heartbreaking sobs, but every time she stopped he would worry. After a long time during which he heard nothing, he decided to check and make sure she was alright. He was almost turning the handle on the door when it opened, and out came the little bird, her face red and blotchy, but no more tears were falling.

“Let’s go,” she said, decidedly.

“Are you sure, little bird?”

“Yes,” she replied, turning to look at him right in the eye. Her face was stony. “There’s nothing here left for us. Let’s go.”

And without turning back once, without even checking to see if he was following, Sansa Stark left her childhood home to never come back.


	5. What stays and what fades away

The end of the world had come and gone, leaving more than a few of its people behind, alive and walking in a world that was no longer theirs, desperately holding onto familiar patterns, actions, words, everything to keep their minds working and sane. Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane had long ago settled in a comfortable routine: long roadtrips punctuated by empty houses that served as shelters for a couple of nights, supplies stolen from empty markets, abandoned farms and the same old music that had been stuck in the stereo for months. Their little visit to Winterfell had not altered their road or upset this way of living, yet something was different.

It was like one of those drawings where the artist copies line by line, shadow by shadow, a photograph or a model, when it often happens that the picture looks just like the original, yet there is always something that cannot be placed, some small change along the way that prevents the copy from being exactly like the model. Their lives were the same, and yet they were not.

Maybe it was Sansa. There was a subtle change in her. She was more silent and more focused. She still wasn’t a good shot, but she was trying her best to learn, and she had become much better with her knife. It wasn’t an obvious change, clearly she had not become Lara Croft overnight, but the altered demeanor was there anyway. It both eased Sandor’s mind and disturbed him.

The road they had now been following for days led them to a small abandoned town, not too different from many they had left behind. A couple of zombies walked aimlessly across one of the streets, so he took a detour until they found a house that was a bit more isolated from the rest, and more elevated too, seemingly built atop a small hill.

“Think we got a winner, little bird?” Sandor asked, as he loaded his gun and reached for his machete.

“I hope so,” Sansa answered, a smile on her face, “I would _so_ like to sleep on a mattress tonight!”

They both got out of the car and slowly made their way to the house.

==

“Bloody hell, this feels so nice!”

“You will never guess what I just found, Sandor!”

“Not right now little bird, I’m enjoying life’s simple pleasures.”

The words were coming from different sides of the big house. After making sure no dead people walked around any of its floors, they had devoted to investigating the place. Sansa had made a wonderful discovery, which led her to look for the room her friend’s voice came from. She found him in the bathroom, drying his arm over the sink.

“So, what was it that was _so good_? Wait,” she said, raising her eyebrow, “do I even want to know? Because if you’re just going to say something gross then…”

“Hot water, girl,” Sandor interrupted her, still smiling like a little boy, “There’s bloody hot water. I’m getting a warm shower for the first time in months!”

“Really?” Sansa clapped her hands together and her smile grew wider, “That is so wonderful! And you’ll never guess! There’s an attic! With a trapdoor and retractable stairs! Zombie-free! And a window! This place just dropped down from heaven.”

“Good, a bath _and_ a good night’s sleep.” Sandor sighed, knowing an attic like that meant they could both sleep without keeping watch, since as far as he could tell, zombies had not yet learned the basics of using a tool to, for example, open a trapdoor and pulling a staircase down. “Keep watch. I’ll use the shower first.”

Now Sansa crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him with her brow frowned.

“That is not the way of a gentleman! Ladies should go first!”

“Well,” he said, smirking, “My personal experience is that _ladies_ take too long in the shower and use up all the hot water, leaving their partners to wash in fucking icy water in the middle of winter.” Sansa blushed, knowing she was to blame for that particular incident. “So, with the lady’s pardons, I will bathe first. Never was a bloody gentleman anyway…”

They both made their way down and got their things out of the car, and after carefully locking and blocking as much points of entry to the house as they could, Sansa left to the kitchen, to prepare something to eat with the meager supplies they had, while Sandor left for his bath.

It was rather pleasant, Sansa thought as she cut some vegetables to prepare a soup, to be able to cook something in a warm kitchen instead of eating from a can sitting in the car. Distracted as she was, when she opened a cupboard to look for a pot, she was surprised by a mouse that scurried off quickly after her very loud scream. In a second, she heard loud steps.

“What the hell?”

Sansa turned around, her hand still over her chest, to find Sandor in the doorway, his gun in his hand. Oh, and half-naked, only a towel covering his lower body.

It wasn’t as if, after traveling together for so long, she had never seen him with fewer clothes than usual, but she had never been able to truly _look_ at him before. He was muscled like a bull, not an ounce of fat in him, the hair in his chest forming a path that ended beneath the towel, and there were still droplets of water all over him. _God, it’s as if I was in a bad teen movie, get a hold of yourself woman!_

“What happened, little bird? I thought something was eating you alive.”

“Um… no,” she stammered, trying to focus on something else, anything else but his admittedly very attractive physique, “it was a mouse. Caught me by surprise. Sorry.”

“A mouse. You shoot zombies on a daily basis and you freaked out for a mouse.” He shook his head, leaning on the doorway, a slight smirk on his face. “Never change, little bird.”

“Well, I was distracted!” She tried to defend herself. “I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of a small cupboard! Anyway, I’m just about finished with the soup, you should… um… get dressed or something.” She finished, blushing.

“I don’t know…” he said, and his smirk grew wider, “I rather like the way you’re staring. And to think a while ago you couldn’t even look at me!”

“Oh! You…Shut up!” Sansa said, scandalized and embarrassed, “Get dressed so I can use the bath too!” She turned around so he wouldn’t see her red cheeks, but he was already walking out of the room, laughing all the way.

Later that night, after they had both eaten and Sansa had showered, they took to the attic to place their mattresses and blankets. Sandor had found many bottles of whisky locked in a cabinet downstairs, so they decided to celebrate the fact that they were still alive by getting well and properly drunk.

“Look at that,” Sansa whispered. She was sitting with her head over her arms, leaning on the windowsill. The window was open and she was staring at the skies. “The stars look pretty. Don’t they look pretty?”

“You are wasted, little bird,” Sandor said, taking a seat next to her.

“I am not wasted. I’m buzzed. Like, a happy buzz. Yes, that’s it, I am comfortably buzzed.” She said while smiling. “That zombie,” she pointed outside, sitting up straight, “seems drunk. He’s been walking back and forth on that porch for _hours_. Maybe it’s his home. Was. Do you think he misses it? Do you think he remembers?”

Sandor stared at the walking dead for a second, before swiftly taking his gun and shooting it.

“One hundred and seventy seven,” he murmured.

“That was anti-poetic.” Sansa pointed out, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “Do you think they are still alive?”

“Zombies?”

“No, Jaime and Brienne. Do you think they made it?”

Sandor shrugged. She was looking at him with slightly glazed, huge blue eyes, and he didn’t want to ruin the moment by saying what he really thought, by saying he thought they were long dead. The truth was, he didn’t want them to be, but what he wanted had never really mattered before.

Sansa, however, understood his silent gesture, and surprised him by saying. “Yeah, I don’t think so either. But it would be nice. It’d be nice if they had made it and were living in a safe place and we could meet with them later. I think I’d like that, even if Jaime made me nervous.”

“Why did he make you nervous?” This was news to her partner.

“He looked like my ex, Joffrey. An asshole. He hit me. I hope he is a zombie now.” She stated, before taking a swig from her bottle. “I wonder where the others are. Do you not ask yourself that? People?”

“Hell if I know. Maybe they all left for an island somewhere.” He said, knowing she was referring to the fact that they had crossed paths with two other survivors at most.

“That would be nice. A nice, warm island full of people. People who breathe.” She giggled.

“That _would_ be nice.” He said. “A place where there’s bloody good food for a change. Not that yours is bad,” he added, because she looked at him slightly murderously. “Somewhere I can get a beer, watch a game, maybe you could find yourself some friends to gossip with, find yourself a pretty boy and get rid of the annoying dog…” he trailed off, looking at the bottle in his hand.

Sansa stared at him for a while, the haze in her eyes gone, before standing up and sitting in front of him.

“Is that…” she started, looking at him dead in the eyes, as if his scars weren’t even there, “what you think of me? That I’m waiting for some pretty boy to show up so I can ditch you?”

“I didn’t say…”

“But you meant it. And I don’t know why, because I never said… Now you listen to me, and please, listen carefully. Remember when we went to my house?” He nodded. “Well, I realized something important there.”

She took his hand on hers, before speaking.

“It’s over, you know. It’s never coming back. That life, I mean. Before going home, I felt as if I was looking at everything through some smoky, dim window. It wasn’t real, it didn’t feel real, it couldn’t be real. But after being there, after seeing my old home reduced to that, I realized something. That life? It’s over.

I’m never going back to college, I’m not becoming a psychologist, I’m not going dancing with my friends again, Marg is never going to try and set me up with her brother again, I’m never getting married and have the white picket fence, the husband, 2.5 kids and a dog. That life is just not happening for me anymore. The glass broke, I saw the world for what it really was for the first time, and… it’s all right, you know?” She smiled a little, and could tell he was surprised at her tone. “There’s nothing I can do to bring that back, so if this is my life now, then I have to deal with that. And…” she hesitated and drew his hand closer to her, playing with his fingers, “I have to say, I’m rather glad it’s you here with me. We might have never… met otherwise, and… I’m glad we did. I don’t want a handsome, young guy with me,” Sansa smiled wickedly and looked up at him, “frankly, I’m not sure I could put up with the kind of guys I used to date right now. Useless, the lot of them. So you see, I don’t regret what happened, being here, just us. And I’m kind of hoping you don’t regret it either. I know I’m a little useless sometimes but I don’t want to be rid of you and I hope you don’t want to get rid of me. I’m sort of, kinda fond of you now.”

She finished her little speech looking at her shoes. Her cheeks were burning. She had probably let on more than she had anticipated, in trying to reassure him. But it was the truth. For a while, Sandor Clegane had become a source of a strange fascination to her, a man so different from all she had ever known, the first one she had trusted implicitly for a long time, the first one in years that had ever made her feel safe. Only now was she beginning to understand that it might not be simply awe, or admiration.

“So…” he said at last. “you’re _fond of_ me.” he said, and she couldn’t miss the jesting tone in his voice. She looked up to see him smiling slightly.

“Seriously, that’s all you took from my inspiring monologue?” she pushed him, teasing him, and he raised his hands in mock-apology.

“That’s the important part. Oh, you silly little bird,” he sighed, and the levity in his voice was gone. “I couldn’t get fucking rid of you if I tried. You are always here.”

He took her hand again, and she understood. Of course she did, for a moment later she was kissing him. It was slow, sweet and gentle, both tasting each other for the first time and testing the waters between them. It was nice, Sansa thought, that no matter how bad the world had gotten, some things remained the same. Like the magic of a first kiss.

“You know,” she murmured against his lips after a few moments, “I was thinking. We could stay here for a while. Get some rest, settle down a bit?”

Sandor opened his eyes, looking straight into the blue depths of her own, and asked,

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” she smiled, “I think I’d like that.”

“Then we stay,” he said simply. And why wouldn’t they? They needed nothing else. A roof, a room, and each other.


End file.
